


Notre Foyer (or A Dog Called Freddie)

by Cicerothewriter



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicerothewriter/pseuds/Cicerothewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastings brings a dog home, which disrupts Poirot's happy home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notre Foyer (or A Dog Called Freddie)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Slash. Fluff and cute animals. More abuse of French.
> 
> Notes: I needed fluff and jealous Poirot, and so I wrote this.

I was returning from my club when I heard a whimpering noise in the bushes near the entrance to the park. I cooed softly to the animal, and when he emerged I found that he was a mottle-colored dachshund with dark brown eyes. I lost my head right away over this poor little thing, and as there was no one in the immediate vicinity calling for a dog, I took him home.

Ms. Lemon was out, and Poirot would not return from his dental appointment for another hour, so I was left to my own devices. I had always wanted a dog, but my sister Ruth was allergic to dogs. After the war, I travelled far too much to even consider a dog. Now that I was a permanent resident of what Poirot calls _notre foyer_ , I regarded myself as a homebody.

Of course, I would search for the dog's lost owners, but I admitted to myself that I would not try very hard. The little dog who looked up at me so trustingly had a firm grip on my heart.

I gave the little boy a bowl of water and some food (canned Belgian something-or-other from the pantry). While he ate, I petted and talked to him.

"Well," I said, "you look comfortable."

The dog wagged his tail, and continued to eat. I hoped that Poirot would not mind me feeding whatever I was feeding to the dog.

"I wonder what your name is," I mused.

The dog continued to eat, but his tail wagged happily. I smiled and stroked his fur, considering my options.

"Charles? David? Rex?" None of these options thrilled either me or the dog, and so I tried a few more.

"Spot? Alan? James? Fredrick?" The dog looked up, and I said again, "Fredrick? Freddie?"

Freddie barked.

I decided to take a nap while waiting for Poirot returned. Freddie whined until I lifted him up onto the settee with me. I stretched out, and Freddie lay on my chest. I continued to pet him as we went to sleep.

 

"Hastings? Hastings."

I sighed softly, and woke up. Poirot was standing above me, an expression of distaste on his face.

"What is that dog doing here?" His emphasis of the word 'dog' gave me pause.

"This is Freddie. I found him in the park."

"And you brought him here? Why?"

"He was alone, Poirot, alone and scared. I couldn't leave him outside."

"But surely someone will be looking for him."

By this time Freddie had woken up. He wagged his tail eagerly upon seeing Poirot, and sat up on my stomach. Poirot merely sniffed, and turned away.

"I do not like dogs," Poirot said.

I felt a bit disappointed, but decided to soldier on. "I always wanted a dog, Poirot, and Freddie here seems to like me."

I put Freddie down on the ground. Freddie immediately ran to the door, and looked back at me expectantly, one paw raised.

"Do you need to go out?" I asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Poirot's expression of annoyance.

I hummed. "Poirot, I don't have a leash. Do you have something I can borrow?"

Poirot responded with a sharp, "No." I could tell that he was angry with me, but I was not about to back down.

Freddie whined, and I said, "Don't worry. We'll go, and I'll buy you a leash when we're out." I turned back to Poirot, and said, "I'll return in a little while."

Poirot harrumphed, and turned to his correspondence.

 

I returned a few hours later with more than I had intended to purchase. Of course Freddie needed a leash and collar, but Freddie also needed dog food, toys, a bed, and treats. Freddie looked quite the thing in his new blue collar, and he barked happily when we reached the apartment door.

I let Freddie run ahead as I negotiated my purchases through the door. I could hear Poirot shout my name, and I hurried to him, still holding on to my bundle.

"Hastings! Please control your dog!" Poirot said, shooing away Freddie from his ankles. Freddie backed away, tail between his legs.

"Steady on, old man. He's just being friendly."

"I do not wish for the dog to be friendly with my trousers." Poirot noticed my burden, and said, "Hastings, what is it that you are carrying?"

"Oh, this? Some things for Freddie. He needs a bed and food and…"

"So you do not intend to continue to feed the dog from my _garde-mange_?"

"No, Poirot. It was an emergency. Freddie was absolutely starving."

Poirot regarded me for a few silent moments, and then said, "You should spend less time purchasing and more time searching for the proper owners of that dog."

"I will, but in the mean time Freddie needs a bed… and toys."

Poirot sighed deep in his throat. Whatever he was intending to say next was interrupted by Ms. Lemon's return.

Naturally Ms. Lemon agreed that I had done the right thing by rescuing Freddie. Freddie adored Ms. Lemon, and sat happily in her lap as she typed a letter. I began to set up Freddie's new bed and put his toys close by. I decided to put Freddie's bed in our bedroom. I could not imagine leaving Freddie by himself in the living room.

Only after we retired for the night did Poirot protest about Freddie's bed. "No, no, no, no, no, Hastings. The dog will not sleep in our bedroom."

"But Poirot, he's not going to sleep on the bed with us. He has his own bed on the floor."

"No, Hastings. I refuse most emphatically. That dog will not sleep in here tonight."

I could not understand why Poirot disliked Freddie so much, and Poirot's haughty dismissal of my feelings frustrated me. I answered with more harshness than perhaps was warranted, "If Freddie is not sleeping in here, then neither am I."

" _Comment_?" Poirot said, an expression of worry replacing his anger.

For a moment I hesitated, but Poirot's dismissal of Freddie irritated me to the point at which I was able to ignore the way Poirot's dark eyes flared with emotion and stirred my blood.

"Freddie and I," I said with equal haughtiness, "are sleeping on the settee."

Poirot's mouth pinched together, and he said angrily, "Very well, Hastings, if that _dog_ means more to you than Poirot."

I drew my dressing gown tighter around me, and then picked up Freddie, cradling him close. "Now you're just over-reacting." I turned around, and slammed the door behind me.

 

It had been a long time since I last slept without Poirot near. He preferred to sleep on his back, which was perfect because I preferred to sleep on my side curled up next to something. Most often a pillow had been that something until Poirot and I became lovers. I missed his warmth, the softness of his skin, and the calm of his breath, but I was determined to outlast his stubbornness.

I had just entered a fitful sleep when I heard the bedroom door open. I could hear Poirot's steps as they came closer, and then he murmured my name.

"Wake up, Hastings," he said softly.

"Hmm?" I replied, blinking up at him. His expression was troubled, and his eyes no longer held anger but frustration and a deep unhappiness that I disliked at once.

"Come back to bed, Hastings. We shall talk in the morning."

All thoughts of outlasting him fled as I felt his hand on my cheek. The gentle caress roused me, and I sat up. "Freddie?" I murmured.

"For tonight, Hastings. I do not wish to argue."

I nodded, and picked up the sleeping Freddie. Once in the bedroom, I left him to rest on his doggie bed. I removed my dressing gown, and slid into our bed with a grateful sigh. Poirot joined me, and we snuggled together, I against his side.

"Goodnight, Poirot," I said, kissing his neck.

"Goodnight, _mon chou_."

 

I woke in the morning earlier than usual. Poirot was awake, but laying quietly next to me. I sighed against his shoulder, and murmured, "Poirot?"

"Yes, Hastings?"

"Why do you dislike Freddie so much?"

Poirot was silent for a few minutes. I waited patiently for him to continue, knowing perfectly well that he would not speak until he was ready.

"When my parents died, I was sent to live with my aunt."

I was shocked into wakefulness when Poirot spoke about the death of his parents. I knew so little about my friend's life, and often I felt that it would be impolite to pry, although I will admit that I was quite curious. I wanted to know everything about Poirot.

"How old were you?" I asked, resting a comforting hand on his chest. His hand covered mine, and he squeezed gently.

"I was eight years old," he answered. "She was the sister of _mon père_. She had a strong dislike of children, especially of Poirot. She kept a dog that she used to cuddle and feed constantly. She ignored me."

All was clear to me now. Poirot disliked being ignored; he needed some degree of doting by others, and I was always happy to oblige him. Now it might have seemed a bit silly since Poirot was a grown man, but a little boy whose parents had just died deserved all the coddling he needed.

"Oh Poirot," I said, hugging him tightly to me. "You know that I love you... most desperately. I could never replace you with Freddie. You are unique!"

I could tell that my words calmed at least some of his worry. He returned my embrace, his body softening against mine. "Thank you, _mon ami_."

I pressed a kiss to his cheek, and replied, "You are welcome, love."

I had almost returned to sleep when Poirot asked, "And now let me ask you something, Hastings. Why do you want a dog?"

I thought carefully about my answer. "When I was young, my parents gave me a dog for Christmas, but I had to give him up when we discovered that my sister was allergic." I did not blame my sister, but this certainly did not strengthen our often antagonistic relationship.

"My desire for a dog remained, but as a young man I wanted to ensure that I would not be in a position to lose my dog again. I could not have a dog because I was in college. After the war I travelled too much, and until we… arrived at our understanding, I felt that my life was temporary. Here – with you – I feel that I can have my dog."

I gazed into his eyes as I whispered, "This is my home – our home."

Poirot's eyes warmed at my words. I knew how much he enjoyed our happy little flat, despite the times when my careless habits tried his patience.

He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips, and said softly, " _C'est notre foyer_."

I nodded, and kissed him again. Our kiss deepened, and I moaned softly when I felt his hands under my pajama top.

"Poirot, I-"

Freddie whined softly. I looked over to find him at the door, his tail wagging. Poirot sighed against my neck, and pulled away.

"I suppose Freddie needs to go out," I said, panting a bit. Freddie had not picked the best moment to demand attention. I was worried that Poirot would regard this as another mark against Freddie, but he merely looked amused.

"He is your dog, Hastings," Poirot said, clearly unwilling to assist me in this matter.

I gave him an exasperated look, but when I realized what he had just said, I leapt on him, and kissed him. "Poirot!" I said, when I sat back up.

"Go, Hastings. Take your dog for a walk." His firm hands squeezed my hips gently; I had managed to straddle him on the bed. "But return _sans délai_."

I laughed. "Certainly, old thing."


End file.
